


Apple From The Tree

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Amnesia, Barebacking, Cock Slut, Community: spn-masquerade, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Gangbang, Gay Bar, Implied Demon Dean, Implied incest or stepcest, Incest, M/M, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Slurs, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben is never leaving this bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apple From The Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 3 of spn-masquerade for the prompt: Ben's 17 now, and he's starting college, and he's a bit of a slut. He doesn't remember Dean but Dean sure does remember his son, and he really gets off having Ben call him Daddy when he's buried balls deep inside his tight little ass.
> 
> Ben is 17. It's never clarified if Dean is his biological father or stepfather, so go with your own headcanon.

Ben is never leaving this bar.

 

Sure, he’d risked the hour drive to Indianapolis a few times, when Sarah Parker would cover for him and let him use her brother’s car. He’d thought Greg’s Bar was a wonderland, where he’d gotten his first blowjob out back and seen his first drag queen. Greg’s can’t even hold a candle to the sea of male skin pressed all around him, throbbing under the strobe lights and pumping hot against him.  The University of Chicago is looking better and better, as is his choice to let Sarah drag him along on a college tour weekend.

 

He’s gone down on two guys and he hasn’t even made it to the other side of the bar yet.

 

This one kisses him when he’s done. Ben laughs, giddy with excitement and the sweaty slide of the guy’s skin against him.  He doesn’t know his name and Ben doesn’t want to, not when he can spin around and see three more older, beefy guys staring him down. Just Ben’s type.

 

Ben’s got his tank top hiked over his neck, exposing his chest and criss-crossing over his back like a harness. There are guys wearing actual harnesses here, including the one currently snaking his hands into the low-slung waistband of Ben’s jeans.  He tugs Ben across the dancefloor and over to the massive bar.

 

The music’s blaring and Ben can only hear every third word the guy says.  A drink gets pressed into his hand and he downs it, syrupy sweet like it should have an umbrella in it.  He lets the guy lick the taste out of his mouth as he runs his hands down Ben’s back.

 

Ben closes his eyes and he can’t even tell who’s pushing him up onto the bar, who’s tugging his pants down and pulling at his hair. There are hands all over him and he’s never felt so wanted in all his seventeen years on earth.

 

Ben’s gotten fucked before, the few times he can sneak off to Greg’s or find some Grindr hookup who doesn’t seem too concerned about him living with his mom and not having his own car.  He has a few toys he’s managed to get his hands on, too, and he uses them whenever his mom’s out at yoga class or on a date.

 

He’s never been watched before.

 

Men crowd around him, palming their cocks through their pants and yelling encouragement as the guy in the harness clambers up behind him.  The bartender yanks his hair back and pours a shot right into his mouth.  It runs down Ben’s chin and there’s a dick in his mouth before he can even wipe it up.

 

Maybe they’ll just let him sleep behind the bar and he’ll never go home.

 

He takes three guys in a row, until his knees are sticky raw and his jaw aches and the only thing keeping him from coming is how bad he has to piss.  The bartender points him to the bathroom and promises him another drink when he gets back.

 

A trail of approving stares follows him to the bathroom.  He turns down the guy lurking outside the stall and relieves himself, eager to get back to his place on the bar.  He pauses in front of the propped-open back door, letting some cool air waft over his face. His hair is sticking to his forehead and he stinks like rubbers and other men’s spit.  He’s still half-hard.

 

“Well look at you.”

 

The guy seems to appear out of nowhere, melting away from the doorway and crowding into Ben’s space.  Ben tilts his head up, ready to flirt with the guy or at least tell him off when he stops.

 

Ben must be drunker than he thought. The guy’s hot, sure, but not hot enough to make Ben sway on his feet like that.  His chest goes tight like someone slipped an ice cube down his throat.

 

“Uh, hi.”

 

Ben licks his lips as the dull beat of the music throbs behind him. 

 

“You look like you just saw a ghost, kid.”

 

The guy smiles, all teeth and maybe it doesn’t reach his eyes but Ben still steps in closer.

 

“A little past your bedtime, ain’t it?”

 

Ben tries to roll his eyes but he can’t help but squirm as the guy stares down at him.  Shadows cast his face stark but his mouth is gorgeous and his eyes gleam in the violet light.  He smells good.

 

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.”

 

The guy leans over him, shoulders sloping down like he could wrap Ben up and make him disappear.

 

“You got a name?  Here, I’ll start.  I’m Dean.”

 

His mom has always loved James Dean.

 

“I’m Ben.”

 

Dean nods, lips glistening as he licks them wet and runs his fingers down Ben’s arm.

 

“Yeah.”

 

His hand circles around Ben’s wrist, just tight enough to make Ben’s breath come in quick. 

 

“Saw you up on that bar.”

 

Ben flushes, all his sluttish ecstasy curling tight into embarrassment as Dean shakes his head.

 

“Little piece of jailbait like you shouldn’t be waving that ass around so easy.”

 

Dean’s finger is rough where he brushes it over Ben’s lips, callused skin catching on the suck-swollen divot of Ben’s mouth.

 

“Your momma know you’re out here giving it up to men twice your age?”

 

“Course not,” Ben huffs, trying to sound offended and settling on petulant.  God, he’s still hard and that firm grip on his wrist isn’t making it any better.

 

“N’aw, course she doesn’t.”

 

Dean trails his finger down Ben’s chin, his eyes tracking after it and tracing over Ben’s chest.  Dean cups his hand over Ben’s pecs, squeezing each one like he’s taking stock. Ben shifts, hips angling back to try and minimize the boner he’s sporting.  Dean snorts.

 

“You don’t have to hide that, darling.”

 

Dean’s hand grips the waistband of Ben’s jeans, tugging him closer.  One shift of his hips and Ben could rub his dick right against Dean.  He doesn’t move.

 

“Your momma might’ve missed it but I know what kind of boy you are.”

 

Dean uses his grip around Ben’s wrist to press both their hands to the small of Ben’s back, where he’s damp with his own sweat and the mouths of whoever used him on the bar.

 

“You’re a bad boy, ain’t you Ben?”

 

Dean pulls him in, brings Ben’s hard dick right up against his leg and shifts his thigh to graze it.  Ben hisses, sensitive and strung out and sort of scared.

 

He’d get on his knees right now if Dean’d let his hand go.

 

“You need Daddy to show you how to behave, don’t you?”

 

 _Shit_. Ben’s still aching sore from having a train run on him but this is the kind of nasty shit he jerks off to, the stuff he’s never told anyone about.  Ben’s never had a dad and deep down it shames him, how often he thinks about having some big, strong man take care of him and teach him how to fix a car and fuck him open. Dean’s hands feel like they could fix anything.

 

Dean hums, low and dirty so Ben can feel it where their chests meet.  Ben’s arm throbs from the awkward angle behind him and he squirms, meeting solid resistance from Dean. 

 

“Mmm?”  Dean raises an eyebrow in question, pressing in until Ben has to arch back to look up at him.

 

“Yes, yes,” Ben whines, dueling voices in his head telling him he can trust Dean with anything and that he should run for his life.

 

“Yes, Daddy.”

 

Ben doesn’t want to listen to anything but Dean telling him what to do.

 

“That’s right,” Dean nods, bringing Ben’s arm to his side.  It aches when Dean takes his hand away.

 

Dean scans the club, eyes darting all over the place until he settles on a small door with MNGR printed on it in gold block letters. He smiles, wolfish, and leads Ben to it hair-first.

 

He pounds on it with his whole forearm, eyes never leaving Ben’s face.  The light’s better here and Ben leans back into Dean’s hand, lips trembling. Dean’s face is warm but his eyes are cold, like something Ben knows he shouldn’t be looking at.

 

“Fuck do you want?”

 

Some over-tanned gym rat with a gold chain flings the door open, scowling. 

 

“Get the fuck out.”  Dean doesn’t raise his voice, or his fist, or even turn away from Ben as he says it.  The guy’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he skulks away, leaving the door open behind him.

 

Ben’s dick is leaking precome.

 

Dean kicks the door shut with his heel as he backs Ben up against the desk, heedless of the glass of water that spills over the side. 

 

“Get your fucking pants off,” Dean growls, keeping his on as Ben fumbles with his button. 

 

“Gonna show Daddy what a big boy you are now, Ben?”

 

Ben trips as he toes his way out of his sneakers, skidding on the wet floor.  Dean rights him with a bruising grip on Ben’s bicep, holding him in place as Ben undoes his fly.

 

“Always were kind of clumsy,” Dean mutters, half of it lost in Ben’s neck.  Ben’s too busy shucking his pants off and groaning as his dick springs free to question Dean’s roleplaying skills.

 

“That’ll be a nice dick one day.”

 

Dean wraps a hand around him and squeezes, not stroking him so much as forcing a fat bead of precome out of the head. It’s just this side of painful and Ben whimpers, wanting more.

 

“Just like your Daddy.”

 

Dean sucks a smear of Ben’s precome into his mouth before he opens his own fly, just enough to get his dick out. Ben squirms in his nakedness, weak in the knees at Dean’s big cock and that smirk on his face.

 

“Gets you hard, doesn’t it?  Getting used like a good little slut?”

 

Ben’s hands clutch at the desk behind him, just for something solid.  He can’t stop staring at Dean’s cock, God, that big daddy dick looks bigger than anything Ben’s ever taken.

 

“I asked you a question, boy.”

 

Dean’s fingers dig into his jaw, tilting Ben’s head up.

 

“What do you like, Ben?”

 

“I like, unh,” Ben gasps as Dean grabs his waist and hefts him onto the desk.

 

“I like being a slut, Daddy,” Ben whispers, blushing scarlet as his ass knocks over a cup full of pens.  Dean sweeps his arm across the desk, spilling office supplies and what Ben’s fairly sure is a bag of coke onto the floor.

 

“Guess it runs in the family.”

 

Dean crowds against him, shoving Ben’s thighs apart with his hips.  He tugs a hand rough into Ben’s hair and jerks his head back, licking over his teeth before he leans down. It’s not like any kind of kiss Ben’s ever had, teeth nipping at his lips and tongue fucking into his mouth.

 

Ben spreads his legs wider, letting his dick press against the buttons of Dean’s shirt. 

 

“You let those guys fuck you good, sweetheart?”

 

Dean’s hand is hard on his leg, fingers snaking rough over the delicate skin behind his knee.

 

“Yes, Daddy,” Ben moans, fuck, just saying it makes him want to spread his legs like a bitch.  He’s been aching to come for hours now but all he can think about is getting fucked.

 

“Good.”

 

Dean slams him back on the desk, like Ben isn’t half his size, like he doesn’t care if Ben’s head knocks against the desk and sends him star-eyed.  Ben moans, not caring if it sounds pathetic because Dean is pressing his leg up and growling deep as Ben’s cock smears all over his belly.

 

“Cause I don’t feel like prepping you.”

 

Ben has lube dripping out of him but he still whimpers, eyes going wide as Dean grabs his other leg and pushes it up, not stopping until Ben’s knees are almost by his ears.

 

“You’re a bendy little thing, ain’t you?”

 

Ben doesn’t have time to answer before Dean pulls him closer, letting the edge of Ben’s ass hang bare over the desk. Dean’s cock nudges against him, smearing through lube and even the hint of it feels too big to fit.

 

“Now be a good boy and hold your legs for Daddy.”

 

Ben’s hands shake as they grab his own knees, spreading himself open.  Dean doesn’t waste a second lining himself up, bare head of his cock pressing against Ben’s asshole and shit, he’s raw.

 

“We, um, we should use a condom, right?”

 

Ben’s voice is high, shushed easily when Dean laughs low.

 

“Shhh, it’s alright, darling.”

 

Dean shakes his head and shifts himself just right, his cock pressing blunt and insistent.

 

“We’ll just keep it in the family, ok?”

 

Dean winks when he pushes in and Ben’s never made a noise like that in his life.

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean moans, splitting him fat and thick as Ben just holds on, legs shaking by his head and his stomach doing backflips. 

 

“You can slut it up all you want, Ben, you’re still gonna be nice and tight for your Daddy.”

 

Every inch of Dean’s cock hurts too good, dragging hot over secondhand lube and fuck sore skin.  Ben can think of a million reasons he should be freaking the fuck out that some stranger is sinking bare into his asshole but all he can think is how much better this feels without a condom.

 

“Oh, God, Daddy,” Ben pants, his skin too hot-tight-sweaty and his dick twitching as Dean bottoms out.

 

“Look at how wet you get.”

 

Dean’s fingers skid past his cock and run through the precome streaking Ben’s stomach.

 

“Must be genetic,” Dean mutters, maybe, Ben’s not really sure with his blood rushing in his ears as Dean starts to pound into him.

 

“Sure know how to take a dick,” Dean growls, curving over Ben and fucking impossibly deeper into him.  Ben’s never felt so open, fat cock hot inside him, the toe-curling, relentless pace of Dean thrusting into him. 

 

“Daddy, unh, yes,” Ben slurs, his teeth clicking together as Dean slams into him balls deep and does it again, God, Ben’s hole must be gaping open by now.  Ben’s so close.

 

The desk creaks underneath them, wood skidding loud against the floor as Dean fucks him hard.

 

“Daddy’s gonna fuck that sweet little ass till you can’t walk right, baby.”

 

By the time Dean grips his dick and strokes up Ben’s so sensitive his eyes tear up. 

 

“Please, Daddy, Daddy, fuck,” Ben whines, no other word for it, not that Ben could remember what shame feels like now. In the fuzzy haze of Ben’s vision Dean’s face splits into a grin, his eyes flashing too dark for a second and then Ben’s coming, _hard_.

 

“Come for Daddy, that’s it.”

 

Ben spills over Dean’s hand, body seizing as his hole clenches around the fat cock buried inside him. 

 

“Yeah, Daddy’s got you,” Dean hushes him, his hand petting rough against Ben’s face for a few more strokes.

 

“Fill you up good, sweetheart.”

 

Oh God, Dean’s coming inside him, not that Ben can feel it but he knows that tell-tale bury and grunt and he moans for it, trying to spread his legs wider, get it deep inside where daddy’s come belongs.

 

Dean buries himself and leans down, his forehead hovering above Ben’s. 

 

“No one’s ever gonna fuck you like this, Ben.”

 

It’s true and Ben just wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, trying to keep him in as long as he can.

 

It’s not long enough.

 

Ben blanches at the wet rush when Dean pulls out, the seeping reality of what he’s just done.  Dean hauls him onto shaky feet, pulling Ben to his chest. He drags two fingers along a wet streak snaking its way down, scooping it up and Christ, he’s pushing it back inside.

 

“Daddy,” Ben whimpers, needy and he knows it.

 

Dean smiles, the softness of it not quite reaching his eyes. He tucks himself back in and presses a kiss to Ben’s forehead.

 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, Daddy’ll track you down again.”

 

Dean grabs Ben’s clothes and bunches them up, holding them out of Ben’s reach as Ben stares down at himself, naked and fucked with his own come starting to glisten dry over his skin.

 

“Now let’s get you back up on that bar.”

 

Dean steps back, waiting for Ben to follow him like he knows Ben will, knows that Ben’ll do anything Dean tells him before he has to pack his sore ass back on a tour bus and cry the whole way back to Cicero.

 

“You’re gonna make your Daddy real proud, Ben.”


End file.
